


you know you're like a son to me

by mintbeetles



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Gen, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega (implied), Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, Smoking, can't you tell that i didn't edit this, no beta we die like men around these parts, the dialogue is off but fuck it i need to post something to this account
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintbeetles/pseuds/mintbeetles
Summary: 'Curt hummed out a nervous laugh, so set on believing it was the bourbon talking, that Cynthia didn’t know the things he desperately wished she didn’t know. But who was he kidding? She was Mama Bear, and this whole agency was her pack of cubs. If all of those cubs had a license to kill, which they did.'aka; cynthia is drunk, and curt witnesses the very rare event.[inspo taken from a headcanon in the SAF discord server --> @/mcnez]
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	you know you're like a son to me

'Mega.'

Cynthia's voice was gruff, but it sure as hell wasn't controlled. Usually, that trait was often found in the director's voice, but not here. Not now. Curt found it to be terrifying on an already terrifying woman.

'Yes?'

Houston shifted in her seat a little, turned to face out the window of headquarters. The best damn view in the building, and yet she never seemed to actually appreciate it until now. Of course, the bourbon on her breath was talking for her rather than her head, which was a change she didn't know how to welcome. So she didn't, not really.

'You're a little shit,' She started, in which Curt was about to open his mouth and make a comeback, but Cynthia cut in again. 'But you are a damn good agent.'

To this, the American paused, hesitated. '... What?'

She brought a hand up to wave it in Mega's general direction. 'C'mere. Bring your chair up next to me, come sit with your poor old director.' 

Out of fear, mostly, Curt obliged to her demands, getting up and dragging his chair to her right hand side; perfect view out the window, he sat down again. It takes a moment for him to realize that the faint liquor he smelled was not of his own breath, but Cynthia's. That gave him at least some form of a clue.

'Y'know-' The director reached for her pack of smokes on the desk behind her, tandem to the lighter she grabbed afterwards. 'They didn't have hope for you back in 51'. Think they knew.' 

(She lit up, taking a long drag and then letting the smoke lazily pour from her lips.)

(Curt froze, but perhaps not for the reason Cynthia thinks.)

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

Cynthia laughed, although the sound is delayed and a little slurred. ‘Knew you were reckless, of course. Impulsive. You’re too good for this job, Mega. Despite, y’know, a body count.’ Another drag was taken from her smoke.

(Oh. _Oh_ . That’s what she meant.)  
  
(Right?)

‘... Right,’ Mega stated, and he finally sat back in his chair again, a little more relaxed.

‘You and Carvour.’ The director finally turned to Curt after a long moment of absently looking out the window of the building, smoke still curled around her head in a lazy halo. ‘You’re good. Together, I mean.’

(There goes staying calm.)

‘I, well-’ Curt hummed out a nervous laugh, so set on believing it was the bourbon talking, that Cynthia didn’t know the things he desperately wished she didn’t know. But who was he kidding? She was Mama Bear, and this whole agency was her pack of cubs. If all of those cubs had a license to kill, which they did.

‘Y’know, I didn’t like him at first. Seemed too suspicious, never trusted those stuff shirted redcoats with anything diplomatic. History repeats itself, that sort of thing.’ She shrugged, gaze finding its way back to the window again. ‘Then, I thought; _‘Well, maybe he’s alright, ‘cause Mega sees something in him. He’s a good judge of character, all that sappy shit. Couldn’t say that I could see anyone else fucking him, that’s for sure.’ '_

(Mega almost choked on his own spit the moment the last few words left her mouth, and he thinks that he’ll never recover from this, because how the hell was he supposed to respond to _that_?)

Despite this, however, Cynthia continued as if her observation was as simple and clean as observing the weather. ‘So I mean it, when I say that you’re alright. You know, you two, despite the, uh, relations. I guess.’ This time, when she put the cigarette back to her mouth, she left it hanging there, dangling from her lips as she sat back in her chair again. 

‘But, I-’ Mega panicked and looked back to his director. ‘So you… you’ve known?’

‘Yeah.’ She laughed bluntly. ‘I guess it’s pretty obvious.’

‘... Oh.’

‘But you don’t need to worry about it, kid.’ _Kid. God, she called him kid. Another sign that this wasn’t Director Houston, this was Cynthia. Just Cynthia, and Curt almost never got to meet her._

The agent hated how small his voice was when he finally spoke again. ‘Kid? You- you called me-’

‘Yeah, because you are. You and Carvour.’ 

‘Your kid?’

‘Am I allowed to have favorites?’ _She wasn’t asking for an answer, because Curt really didn’t have the authority no matter what he said._

‘... Is that allowed?’

Cynthia laughed again, and this time she took the cigarette back out of her mouth and held it between her fingers, weaving it back and forth between them. There would come a time much later where she wakes up with a headache, and the ghost of bourbon on her lips, and she would curse herself for not recognizing the taste of it on her tongue before words escaped.

(She could be nice. As a treat.)

‘I’m the director, so I say it’s allowed. Numbers don’t lie, Mega; you two are the best damn agents I’ve ever had. I want you to know that.’

Curt smiled to himself, hoping that Cynthia didn’t see it. Then again, maybe this Cynthia didn’t care about smug smiles, or swelled up pride, or anything else that would normally get Mega berated. Owen might think that she’s a bitch, but one of the perks of being Curt Mega is seeing something inside of people no one else could ever find.

Consider it a gift.

‘I do.’

‘Good.’

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr](https://carvour.tumblr.com)
> 
> love ya'll, keep wearing a mask and defunding police  
> \- abel <3


End file.
